From Darkness
by Nightfable
Summary: Deep within the fortress of Orthanc, after the fall of Sauron, an infant is discovered in her mother's dying arms. The binding spell that was woven by Saruman's words is set into motion. A new Shadow Cult arises, where men of Gondor worship Orcs and Sauron. Something evil brews and this elfling's future is shrouded by a very menacing fate. Post Lord of The Rings. [Legomance]
1. From darkness, I bind you

CHAPTER ONE

_3rd Age - September 19, 3018_

Saruman the White and Chief of the Istari would always carefully plan every outcome and possibility laid before him. Although he had shed his title because of his alliance with the enemy, the Maia's fame was great and his knowledge deep, for he possessed a skill that allowed him to easily control people's minds. His words would charm and bedazzle; even the Mighty Sauron was afraid of him. It was only a matter of time before the One Ring was rightfully his.

Hiding in his fortress of Orthanc, he sat hunched over a parchment, his quill scratching quickly against the paper for hours on end. The room was lit only by the gentle orange glow of candle light. Examining the page over he slowly rolled it up and placed it carefully amongst the others.

The old bearded wizard stood up, grabbed hold of his staff and made his way out of the room.

The Istari knew for a fact that he would be the One Ring's next owner; he felt it in his very being. But... Saruman was no fool. He had prepared himself for the very slim chance that he would fail - if the ring was destroyed and his current body discarded. Yes, even in this eventuality, he had prepared and he held pride in the knowledge that he had control over even his own death and rebirth.

Yes, that made him most content.

Walking purposefully down the long circular flight of marble steps, he entered the small kitchen on the ground floor. If someone were to enter this room, they would notice nothing out of the ordinary.

He stopped beside an worn rug situated in the middle of the room and pushed it aside with the tip of his foot, revealing a trap door.

He whispered a word and the trapdoor unlocked with a resounding click. His staff suddenly glew bright, showing a tight passage going downwards before him. Carefully, he descended the rough stone slab of stairs and the shadows danced around him. Ahead lay another source of light. With another word of magic he willfully changed his appearance into that of a graceful and handsome elf. His robes of white remained the same but now his stance was straight and strong - youth and graceful charm exhuming from every part of him.

The room was dark, humid and stuffy with a low ceiling and no windows; what was visible of the barrels and supplies were covered in spiderwebs and a thick dust. It was a regular cellar except for one detail; a beautiful elleth rested against a small bed, lit by candlelight. Her long, wavy midnight hair was sprawled around a delicate face; features only the firstborn were graced with.

She wore a simple grey gown and sang softly to her swollen abdomen. Upon his arrival her eyes came alight and she sat up with difficulty.

"Curumo, my love!"

He sat down beside her and held her slender hand in his and leaned over to kiss her lips. "My Dearest, Nórisilmë. How fares our little one?"

"She is so very full of life," Nórisilmë answered, a beautiful smile curving her lips.

The Istari was momentarily lost in thought. It didn't really matter if the baby was female, his plan would still play out the same way. He smiled back at his elven mate and brought the back of her hand to his lips. "She will be a wondrous beauty, like her mother."

The elf maid stared at him with adulation, a slight blush reaching her pale cheeks.

His web of deceit and manipulation had been carefully woven over time, the elf had taken no notice of her imprisonment; fully believing in his lies. Saruman didn't feel a shred of pity, guilt or regret for these innocent lives he placed in danger. He had a purpose and nothing in his meticulous plan could afford to go awry.

Leaning in and gracefully placing his hands on each side of the abdomen, he whispered in the ancient tongue of magic.

* * *

><p><em>3rd Age - August 5th, 3019<em>

Twas a grand day when the One Ring had been destroyed and Sauron and his armies were no more. Aragorn had been crowned King and forces of evil were vanquished. Now standing at the eve of a more peaceful age, Middle-Earth rejoiced.

King Elessar had married the beautiful Arwen Undómiel and made her his wife. The sapling of the White tree they planted, a symbol of rebirth and of hope.

Although the thick veil of Sauron's darkness had been lifted, word of Saruman's devious escape from the Ents brought him worry and he decided to rid his fortress of any artifacts that could be used for evil. Under the white flags of Gondor, amongst the soldiers were with his faithful companions Legolas and Gimli who traveled with him to Orthanc.

The lone tower stood silently amongst the ravaged land as a witness of the evil that had transpired within. The former beautiful adorned front doors were now but destroyed and the white marble outer wall; was broken and scorched. It was with renewed hope that some of the wrongs that were done to the land would be righted.

Stealing a glance at his companions, his sword Anduril at the ready, King Elessar carefully advanced into the depths of Saruman's former dwelling.

The group painstakingly searched the broken tower's every nook and cranny. It was a long but necessary task. The place lay in utter disarray; chairs overturned, parchments and books littered the ornate carpets, vases and statues were broken. Even if the evil of Saruman had been vanquished and was no more, a thickness and dread to the air remained.

They climbed up the stairs to Saruman's luxurious study and sleeping quarters. The group began their meticulous search amongst the many artifacts. Most of what they found was rubbish and what held some significance had been destroyed beyond repair.

"By my aunt's great beard!" Gimli exclaimed, most of his body buried in a large wooden closet.

"What is it, friend?" Legolas gave the dwarf his full attention. Aragorn knew that tone meant Gimli had made an interesting discovery and turned around to look.

The stout dwarf came out of the closet with a splutter, flailing his arms about, uttering a long string of dwarven curses; attempting to get free of the robes that had fallen upon him. Elessar tried to hide his mirth pulling at the corner of his mouth but found it was incredibly difficult given the dwarf's constant comical lack of grace. By the look of it, Legolas wasn't faring any better.

A sense of wonder overtook of him as a beautiful jewel was revealed sparkled in the dwarf's large calloused hand. He came up to him with excitement and held it in his own hands. The magnificent jewel shone with many perfectly cut facets.

"Elendilmir, Star of the North! It was presumed to be lost forever when Isildur perished in the Gladden Fields!" King Elessar couldn't believe such an item would be hid in closet.

"This jewel contains a tiny measure of the light of the Silmarils," Legolas spoke in reverently his eyes entranced by the treasure found.

"By my great-grandmother's beard! This is a most wondrous find!" Gimli was ecstatic. There was nothing more enticing for a dwarf than precious ancient jewels.

"You may keep it safe with you until our return," Aragorn added, carefully handing the jewel back.

Gimli cheeks turned bright red and he bowed clumsily, "T-Thank you, King Elessar, I will guard it with my life."

Legolas laughed, positively beaming from head to toe. Aragorn joined in the laughter. Their travels to Imladris hadn't been in vain.

But the celebrations were suddenly cut short.

"My liege!" Aragorn spun around.

His second in command, out of breath held a look of deep concern in front of him.

"What is it?"

"We found something very troubling down in the cellar. Please, make haste!"

Drawing out their weapons, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli swiftly made their way down the spiralling stairway and soon found the open trapdoor in the kitchen. A faint sound came from its depths.

"An infant's cry!" Legolas noted in alarm, worry creasing his forehead.

"This wretched place of evil is no place for an infant," Gimli's deep voice rumbled.

"Agreed," Aragorn felt a deep dread rise inside of him.

They reached the bottom of the cellar, it was pitch black and the small whimpers of a newborn were alarmingly close somewhere in this room. A soldier brought a torch alight and the darkness was lifted, revealing a slender feminine form laying on a bed under a slim blanket. She held a tiny bundle in her arms.

There was no mistaking the delicate features and pointed ears - the woman in front of them was elven. As Aragorn got closer, he couldn't help notice her gaunt sunken cheeks and her ashen skin. The dread that had begun mounting earlier had formed knots in his stomach.

Legolas was already at her side, her limp hand in his.

"Is she?..." Aragorn began, afraid of what the answer might be.

"No… almost. She is fading…"

Aware of their presence, the elven maid opened her eyes.

"Curumo, my love. Is that you?" the words were spoken in Quenya and barely audible.

Aragorn held his breath. Curumo was one of Saruman's other names.

Legolas shook his head and replied in her own tongue, "I am Legolas of Mirkwood, this is Gimli son of Gloin and his liege, King Elessar Telcontar of Gondor. Pray tell me, what is your name?

Tears of ran down her face, "Nórisilmë of the Avamanyar."

Aragorn recognized the word. The Avamanyar were of the elves who refused the summons to Valinor. He stole a glance at Legolas and the elf returned his concerned expression.

Elessar knelt at her side, his heart in his throat, "Please, lady Nórisilmë, let us tend to you and remove you from this lonely prison."

"I'm afraid that my time in this world is over," her regret and sorrow was palpable. "Please take care of my child, my sweet Tuilindil."

The elf coughed weakly, her breath short and uneven. She gave the little bundle a soft kiss on the forehead and looked to Legolas, "You are of my kin. Please, have her brought to the Undying Lands; to see the light of Valinor. This is my wish," Nórisilmë extended her arms and handed him her infant. Legolas looked visibly shaken as he cradled the tiny elven baby in his arms.

"Valar, forgive... me..." Her eyes remained on her baby for a moment then she closed her eyelids, all life leaving her body.

Her head fell to the side and her chest lay still.

Aragorn felt a deep rage aimed at Saruman. He couldn't comprehend why he had imprisoned this poor elf maid… He suspected that he had created this offspring with her. For what purpose?

Even after the darkness of Sauron was lifted, innocents yet still suffered from Saruman's evil and deception.

He tenderly covered the rest of her body with the bed sheet.

It was with a heavy heart that King Elessar departed with his companions and soldiers to make the trek back to Gondor - Gimli holding the legendary Elendilmir, and Legolas; a tiny baby elf.

* * *

><p><em>4th Age - April 14th, 63<em>

"Eldaaaaarion!"

At his name, the young man shifted his weight around to face the sing-song child's voice. His sight was covered with a cloth and his arms extended in her search.

The child, looking to be no more than 7 years of age, squealed in delight as his fingers grazed her skin and she sprinted away from him. "I am too swift, you will not catch me!"

Peeking from under the blindfold, Eldarion reached for the child in a few strides, caught her and spun her as she giggled uncontrollably. They both fell onto the lush grass of the beautiful garden and examined the blue sky above them.

They watched the small fluffy white clouds drift lazily in the warm breeze.

"Brother?" the little girl's sparkling grey eyes went to the young man, "If I was born after you, why is it that you look much older than I?"

Eldarion frowned and he turned onto his side to face his sister.

"Because you are elven and not Dúnedain, like I."

"That's unfair, brother! I wish I was Dúnedain too."

Eldarion snickered, "How so, Tinú?"

The child twirled a lock of hair around her index finger, her lips forming a pout, "For starters, you would stop calling me _Tin_ú_!_ And, secondly, everyone is taller than me and treat me like a child! If I was Dúnedain, I would be treated with respect like a grown-up."

The dark-haired child stood up, brushing away the few strands of stray grass that had clung to her favorite light-blue gown, she crossed her small arms and sulked. Seeing her distress, Eldarion raised to his knees now at perfect eye level with her.

"But look, Tinú, look, we ARE the same height!" He gave her one of his smoldering lop-sided grins which made her burst into a fit of giggles.

He examined her quietly for a moment and then added, "You're the one who's lucky, Tinú. Even though the Dúnedain live long lives compared to men, you'll most likely outlive me and everyone else."

He spoke the words without thinking and now deeply regretted it. His sister had a horror-filled expression marring her dainty porcelain-doll-like features. Hot tears ran down her cheeks and she burst in a mad run, sobbing.

"I'm sorry, Tinú, I take it back!" he yelled in her direction. He sighed. Father would be having that discussion with him again.

He kicked at the grass and rubbed his hand through his short hair.

"The concept of immortality is not one easy to understand, especially for one so young as she."

A tall elf dressed in greens and browns, approached Eldarion; a sad smile on his fair elven face.

"Lord Legolas!" Eldarion exclaimed in joyful surprise. "You have arrived!"

"Of course, I would not dare miss your 20th birthday."

"I'm not certain I feel like celebrating any longer. I'm supposed to have matured and yet here I am, acting like a complete fool."

"Do not fret, young prince of Gondor. I will go speak with your sister."

"You won't tell father?" Legolas shook his head.

"Thank you. I am in your debt!"

Legolas smiled, the weight of his hand on his shoulder in show of comfort. "Nothing is more painful than outliving one's loved ones... it is yet the hardest pain the firstborn has to bear," the wood elf said softly, without reprimand. The young man tensed up at his words.

Knowing what he said had sunk in, Legolas made his way deeper into Arwen's beautiful garden.

* * *

><p>Legolas easily tracked down the young elf, following the subtle signs of flattened grass and broken twigs. He was happy to be back in the majestic city of Minas Thirith to see his good friend King, Elessar. It had been ten years since he last was in Gondor and seeing Eldarion, now grown man, made him realise just how brief the life of the second born were. A pang of sadness squeezed his heart. One day he would have to say goodbye to his own closest friends. A feeling he would never get used to, even with over two millennia of experience.<p>

He halted in front of a tree, the sound of quiet sobbing came from it's leaves. Looking up, he spotted a white slipper and the hem of a blue dress. Last he had seen Tuilindil, she had been but a small toddler. Like all children of the Eldar, she was joyful, fair and happy. Her laughter was contagious and both Elessar and Arwen loved her like one of their own.

"Greetings, friend!" he said in Sindarin cheerfully, "I seem to be lost, could you aid me?"

A small heart-shaped face framed by long waves of dark hair peeked at him over the branch. She cocked her head to the side, "Do I know you?"

"Perhaps. My name is Legolas. I am a close friend of your father King Elessar,"

"_The_ Legolas of Mirkwood, who walked with the Fellowship of The Ring and destroyed Sauron?!" The sniffles had stopped.

Legolas laughed, "The very same!"

With a nimble grace, the elven girl made her way down the tree. Hanging from a low branch, she let herself freefall and Legolas deftly caught her around the waist.

"You are an elf, like I!" the child's face was but mere inches from his, her grey eyes examining him over closely, "What beautiful, soft hair. It shines like the sun!"

Her fingers traced his jawline, reaching his right ear; inspecting the pointed tip.

"And you have hair that would rival Tinúviel's," Legolas grinned, brushing a dark strand that was obscuring her vision.

She scrunched up her nose in distaste, "I don't like her, she's an elf."

Legolas frowned in fake hurt, "It saddens me greatly that you dislike our kind so. I thought you and I were friends."

Tuilindil stared at him shocked, her eyes wide. Small arms snaked around his neck and she embraced him tightly, "We ARE friends!" The sniffles began once more.

"Dry your tears, _Lirimaer_. Your face is too sweet for such sadness. We have no control over what we are born as, you were born an elf as Arwen Undómiel was born an elf. Your brother and sisters were born as Dúnedain restored. But that does not lessen the love you share for each other."

"Eldarion said that I would outlive everyone! I do not want that!"

"Smile, Tuilindil, for, your loved ones are alive and well - they are with you now," he caught a tear drop from her skin with the back of his finger. "Treasure every moment and never resent who you are. We all are children of Eru; we have a destiny traced among the stars."

"Your loved ones shall forever remain here..." The elven prince placed his open palm over her beating heart.

The child stared at him, absorbing his every word. An adorable smile lit up her face, "Yes, you are right, friend Legolas. Thank you!" she pecked him on the cheek and freed herself from his hold. "Would you like to see my favorite hiding spot?"

"I would like nothing more, friend…?"

"Tinú."

"Lead the way, friend Tinú."

Tuilindil grabbed hold of Legolas' hand, pulling her new found friend along with her.

* * *

><p><em>(S) Lirimaer - Lovely one<em>


	2. Revelations

CHAPTER TWO

_3rd Age - September 29th, 3021_

The sun was rising at the elvish port on the Gulf of the architecture of Mithlond was ancient and a grand beauty to behold which was founded in the beginning of the Second Age. The elven presence in of the Eldar was diminishing in Middle-Earth and departures to the Undying Lands had reduced greatly since the fall of Sauron.

Cirdan the Shipwright, master of the Havens, had built a breathtaking ship of white for the peculiar group of people that gathered on the dock by the shores. Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, Gandalf the White, Frodo and Bilbo stood, facing Lady Arwen and King Elessar.

Unshed tears stung their eyes, this departure was very sorrowful and bittersweet. Goodbyes and loving words had been already spoken.

As they were about to embark on their last voyage, a servant approached and handed Arwen a baby. She held her lovingly and closed the distance between her and the Lady of Lórien; handing her the precious charge.

Galadriel smiled.

"Tuilindil, daughter of Nórisilmë of the Avari," she cradled the little baby girl and examined her with her wizened eyes. "Much happiness and light you bring, yet... something about you is shielded from my sight. I shall carry your mother's last wish and bring you with us to Valinor. May you be blessed by the Valar and forever walk in their Light."

Gandalf the White advanced, a frown on his weathered, wrinkled face. He removed the baby from Galadriel's arms, "This child may not sail with us, my lady, for, powerful magic has been woven from whence she was conceived. Sadly, this child's fea is bound to Middle-Earth and is barred from entering Valinor."

Arwen gasped and shook her head, "Surely you are mistaken, Mirthrandir!"

"I wish I was, my child," the old wizard sighed, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "There is nothing that may be done. Saruman's magic holds an unseen power over her."

"There must to be a way to aid her, Gandalf! As one last request from your dear friend, promise me to at least try!" King Elessar's eyes went to the baby and back to the old wizard, his love and attachment for this child all too evident.

Gandalf regarded Aragorn for a very long moment and gave a curt nod, "Try I shall, old friend. Farewell."

He handed the elven baby back to the King of the Reunited Kingdom and stepped onto the ship.

* * *

><p><em>4th Age - June 8th, 50<em>

The years trailed by and already Arda had entered it's Fourth Age. People went about their business in the magnificent city of Minas Tirith. The ground level was a loud cacophony of sounds; chickens scattering away, hooves clip-clopping against the pavement, the clang of metal against metal, birds chirping, children laughing. Everyone was too busy to notice these sounds, except for the one who sat on the flower shop's rooftop. Any passer-by that looked in her direction would acknowledge her presence, but they would think nothing of her. This was because Tuilindil wore an enchanted cloak; it rendered her presence insignificant to others. To the city of Minas Tirith; she was practically invisible.

She inhaled deeply, hugged her shoulders and smiled. Life was noisy and chaotic here in the market plaza but it was hers and in this moment everything was perfect. She let herself fall onto her back; strings of hay caught in her hair. She was met with the most gorgeous blue summer sky.

Time stood still. Humming to herself, she rested her thoughts and drifted into reverie.

At the edge of her conscience, her keen sense of hearing caught a peculiar sound.. Returning, she strained to make sense of it. Listening intently, as the sound approached, she recognized clanging of armor and angry shouts.

She shot up, suddenly very alert. _A commotion!  
><em>

A blond haired child ran through the street, clearly in distress and out of breath. Not far behind him, a man brandished his fist; his cheeks were almost purple with rage. She didn't recognize the him. She observed the scene from afar, puzzled. Feeling the uncontrollable need to attribute a name to his features - a game she played since she was young - Tuilindil settled on Naruthir; her Sindarin rendition for 'red face.'

Switching her attention to the child again, she felt the adrenaline flow and her mind spark.

What happened, she wondered.

Could it have been theft? Was the boy's family poor and suffering from malnutrition, forcing him into a life of crime? Her mind produced a tragic scene displaying the boy weeping as his many brothers and sisters were dying of famine.

Deeply disturbed by her own vivid imagination, the elf jumped to her feet as the commotion passed by down below. Bursting into action, Tuilindil followed them closely, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. The child tripped clumsily over a cart and fresh fruit went rolling onto the paved ground. Tuilindil sprinted ahead of him, leaping and catching hold of a chimney she climbed down the stone wall and her silk cloth slippers touched ground.

The man's towering height gave him an advantage, he was quickly catching up to the child. She had to act fast.

Unfastening the broach that held her cloak together, her arms outstretched, she vaulted onto the hobbit. She collided into him with such force, it sent both of them painfully rolling across the road. The blond-haired child tried to free himself. Tuilindil placed her raised index finger against her closed mouth in a symbol of silence.

"Shh, you are hidden by my cloak."

They were both sitting underneath the blue fabric, the child's breathing loud in Tuilindil's ears. Her mind formulated "Bruinir" while Naruthir ran by, tripping, sputtering and still very red in the face.

Both waited a moment and Tuilindil finally removed the cloak from their heads.

"Uh.. thank you," his voice was a bit grave for a child, perhaps he was nearing adulthood.

"No need to thank me, Bruinir. You were in obvious distress," her heart fell when she saw that her favorite embroidered skirt was now dirty and maimed. Pulling herself up, her left knee ached and the skin on her palms burned.

Remembering the sad scene of famine and despair she saw in her mind earlier, Tuilindil's hand disappeared in a pocket and came out holding a food wrapped in a leaf that she handed him, "Here. Eat some lembas, child, you must be famished."

The child had a look of what looked like shock and disbelief on his round face. Now that she thought about it, she found it strange that he wore no shoes. Dear Bruinir was so poor, he wasn't able to afford a simple pair of shoes to keep him warm from the winter. This reinforced the notion she had of him.

"I wish I had more that you could share with your starving siblings. It is very saddening that one has to turn to thievery and put himself in danger in order to sustain his family. Perhaps little Galasdir or Dillothell are avidly waiting for your return; their empty stomachs rumbling and their little bodies frail with famine."

"You have a brave spirit, Bruinir. Do not discourage, though this world is sometimes merciless and cruel... there are loving souls, like I, that wish to aid. Tell your family that I bless them and wish them well," she continued, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

They had been walking together along the street and Bruinir stopped to blow his nose loudly.

He cleared his throat, his eyes brimming with tears, "You must have me confused with another, miss," he sniffled and dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief, "I find myself much saddened by your friend's tale of sorrow. I can't remember the last time someone moved me this way."

He stopped in his tracks, fumbling for something. He handed her the lembas and a small pouch heavy with coins, "My lady, please take this purse and give it to Master Bruinir and his family. Convey my blessings and tell him Porto Bracegirdle of Hardbottle is deeply moved by his plight. He's welcome to enter my shop. My items for him are free of charge."

Tuilindil stood in place, dumbfounded, "Porto, the hobbit? Owner of Porto's Supplies?"

"Why yes!" he shook her hand amiably, "I apologize for earlier, my lady. I'm afraid I mistakenly delivered one of my customer's the wrong order. As you could see yourself, he was quite furious. My! Where are my manners?! I forgot to ask you your name."

The elf felt her cheeks become bright red with embarrassment. Sensing the curious stares of the gathering crowd, she felt slightly nauseated.

Tuilindil hid within her cloak, ignoring her aching knee and hurt pride, she sped through the street and disappeared into the alleyways.

* * *

><p><em>(Q) Tuilindil - small swallow  spring-singer_

_(S) Tinu - small star_

_(Q) Nórisilmë - land of starlight_

_(S) Bruinir - loud young man_

_(S) Naruthir - red face_


	3. The Dining Hall

**A/N: I want to thank the ones who have added this story to their favorites and watch. I changed the last chapter a bit when I found out that Aragorn's children are not half-elven but actually Dúnedain restored. I will probably make some mistakes, but I quickly rectify them once I know about them. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it. :)  
><strong>

CHAPTER THREE

Back in the comfort and safety of her own room, the elven princess sat on a fancy bench, by her elegant floor loom. A long thin strip with an intricate design had already been woven with brilliant colors of the finest silk. Her passion for weaving would normally urge her to continue her work but at the moment she was distracted.

She lifted her torn skirt to uncover her injured knee; the skin was raw but the slight bleeding had come to a halt, hardening into a scab. Breathing in through her clenched teeth she dabbed at the skin. Seeing no grave damage, she stood.

On her way to her dresser to retrieve a bandage for her scrape, the young Elleth caught a quick glance of herself in the ornate mirror and halted to regard her reflection, scrupulously. The usual neat waves of black were disheveled into a tangled mane of hay and dirt, her face and hands were dirty and the embroidered dress was torn. It was as if she had been trampled by a Mûmakil.

Tuilindil berated herself inwardly. Her sister was right, she was rash and careless. The kind face of Porto the hobbit popped into her mind.

The hot shame she had felt earlier had faded into guilt. What right did she have to meddle in someone else's life? At the time, she had been convinced she had been right, but once again her imagination had led her astray. Now she had inadvertently obtained someone else's purse and had lost it in her heed to escape the scene.

It had fallen from her person, onto the streets and she hadn't dared return for it.

Did this make of her a thief and a coward? Had she deviously misled some poor hobbit into giving her his hard-earned coins?

Rubbing her hands together in worry, she paced around the lavish room and sat gingerly on her bed.

An Eldar thief was practically unheard of! What this make of her?

Tuilindil wasn't used to dealing with these extremely uncomfortable emotions which made her stomach knot, her skin perspire and her heart constrict. Her parents had taught her to be sensible and just; to think before acting on her impulses. She had let her parents and herself down.

Now biting at her fingernails, the elven princess resumed her frantic pacing.

A slight knock sounded at the door. Tuilindil whirled around with a resounding cry.

"My lady, you are summoned to the dining hall."

"Be still, my beating heart," she mumbled.

Taking a few deep breaths she steadied herself, "Thank you, Rhaia. Please, give me a moment."

The wooden surface was cool against her back as she closed her eyes. She had to think of a way to remedy the situation and with haste. But how would she do it? She had lost Porto's purse. Maybe it was still there, somewhere on the street, unclaimed.

That was highly unlikely... perhaps if elves populated this city things would be different, but here there were hundreds of men coming and going and someone would have greedily acquired the fat purse for themselves.

The young elf, sighed. One problem at a time.

She removed the tattered dress from her body, folded it and hid it under her large bed.

Choosing a red gown, she hurried to the basin and scrubbed the dirt from her face. Her fingers snatched the hair brush from its place on the dresser, followed by tugging furiously at the tangles while the soiled slippers were kicked off and replaced by clean ones.

"Do you require any aid, my lady?"

Tuilindil opened the door and was greeted by the familiar face of the maid, her chestnut-hair was pulled back into a tight bun as per usual and her brown eyes framed by wrinkled skin were slightly squinted. Rhaia had been part of her life a relatively long time, most of her young life. Even though the mortal woman was showing signs of aging she still retained a sparkle in her eyes and a sharp mind.

Rhaia stared at her a long moment and snagged a strand of hay from her hair.

Tuilindil swallowed.

"Do you need anything mended, my lady?" Rhaia asked, her eyes squinting a tad more.

Tuilindil exhaled, "My gown and slippers, under my bed."

"Do not worry, I shall handle it. Now, let's not tarry, your meal is waiting."

"You are so dear! Thank you!" the elf kissed the maid on the cheek, her mood much brighter.

Clutching handfuls of her gown, forgetting about all formal etiquette, she sped down the hallway.

* * *

><p>Elessar sat at the end of the long table, arching an eyebrow in curiosity as he watched his adoptive daughter, a flurry of red and gold, hurriedly make her way from the end of the large hall to join them. Her toe caught in the carpeting, she stumbled slightly but easily regained her composure. Arriving at his side, the unbridled elf suddenly transformed into a very calm and poised member of the royal family. Smoothing out her hair from her shoulder, she sat down with an elegant flourish.<p>

A feeling of love and warmth touched Elessar's aging heart. Most of his daughters had left the nest; Peldes, Araswen and Glándis were married, had children of their own and lived their lives away from Minas Tirith while Prince Eldarion was off visiting other cities to upkeep the realm's diplomatic treaties. It was wise to be on the lookout of new allies and Elessar was truly very proud of his son handling his responsibilities, but, he couldn't help missing those years when all his children were here by his side.

Tuilindil was a much appreciated constancy in his life. Bright and energetic, she had slowly grown into a stunning, delicate elf. Her interests lay with her established hobbies and the familiar. If she wasn't occupying herself weaving, or embroidering he often found her lost in many of her daydreams as she wandered the palace. Compared to her siblings, her growth was stilled to a slow crawl and her childhood spirit ever glowed with youth and innocence. Arwen had stated that Tuilindil was after all but an elfling in the eyes of the Eldar, and that even if she appeared to have matured physically, her mind was only just budding. At half a century of age, she could be compared to an adolescent human.

"Greetings father, mother... sister," Tuilindil said as she joined them at the table.

"Sister, have you been sleeping in the stables again?" his youngest daughter, Lennel, reproached disapprovingly, "You have no proper manners!"

His baby, Lennel, had grown into a beautiful woman as well. Inheriting of both his quick wit and Arwen's delicate features. He conceded that she could be a bit vain and contentious, but had associated it as growing up into royal life.

"You will never find a suitor with this impropriety."

Tuilindil lowered her fork, shocked, "Why in Arda would I waste my time finding a suitor? I am perfectly happy with my life."

Lennel's fingers went to her many slender gold chains; adjusting them lightly on her wrist. Her grey eyes were planted on Tuilindil. Elessar knew that look all too well.

"I cannot for the life of me understand how weaving and embroidering like an old maid brings you satisfaction. Where is your sense of adventure, of new thrills and love?!" She exclaimed, her cheeks reddening from anger.

"If you opened your eyes to the world around you, Lennel, you would find that adventure, love and thrills reside in everything - even seemingly small deeds, like embroidery."

"Do not pretend to know everything! The quest for love is not a waste of time, it is daring and essential to our lineage. I do not care for your words, you cannot _weave_ yourself a suitor!"

"I shall prove you wrong, dear sister. Love _can_ be woven," Tuilindil had squared her shoulders, facing her hostile sibling with defiance.

Lennel rolled her eyes and sighed with displeasure, "Oh, Eru! You are _infuriating_!"

Aragorn cleared his throat, sending both of his daughters a stern look.

"Children, please be cordial," Arwen chimed in, glancing quickly at him and giving him a small knowing smile.

Lennel cut at the meat on her plate fervently, "Mother, I wish to take part of decorating the main hall for this year's Yule ball. I plan on impressing every eligible lord in the kingdom."

Arwen chuckled, "You are welcome to, Lennel. I am certain you will provide splendid work."

She turned to her other daughter, "Would you be interested in joining your sister in the preparations, Tuilindil?"

"The offer is appreciated, mother, but I must respectfully decline."

The young elf sighed, frowning and now ignoring the food on her plate. Elessar hated seeing any of his daughters distressed.

"The elves of Ithilien will be joining our merry-making this year," he added. "Namely, Legolas Thranduilion accompanied by Gimli, son of Glóin."

Tuilindil's mood perked. Her doe-like eyes glistened; she jumped to her feet with excitement, sending her chair falling over backwards with a loud clunk.

"Oh father! How wonderful, I wish to show him the new weaving technique I learned!"

Lennel was just as thrilled; clutching her braided hair and squirming in her seat with delight, "Prince Legolas?! He is so very dashing... and eligible!"

Tuilindil brought her hand to her mouth with a gasp of horror.

"He's not that kind of _elf_, Lennel! How dare you hold such scandalous and indecent thoughts - he is practically _family_!"

"He is _not_ family!"

Elessar stood, dumbfounded at how swiftly the conversation had escalated, "Now, now. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Yuletide is not celebrated for another eight months and I'm certain Legolas will enjoy the extra attention."

At this point, Aragorn had an urge to burst out laughing. Poor Legolas would have plenty on his plate this coming winter.


	4. Porto Bracegirdle

CHAPTER FOUR

Porto Bracegirdle returned to his shop. He turned the little metal key in the keyhole,unlocking the lock with a small click. He swung the door open carefully and nudged it closed behind him with his foot. Exhaling, the hobbit came over to the display window and revolved the hanging sign in the to display the word "Closed" in round fancy letters. On his way to the counter, he grabbed hold of the broom and swept a the wooden floor distractedly. Once reaching his destination, he leaned the broom against the wall and sat down upon a stool. He removed a small pipe from a hidden pocket inside his coat and brought it to his lips. With an adept flick of the wrist, he lit a match and brought the content inside ablaze.

Filling his lungs with the comforting smoke of his pipe, Porto waited.. as he usually did.

The Bracegirdle family was large and important in the shire. Bringing fortune and success through hard work was re surging trait but for the past few generations, the descendants grew lazy and the family wealth had dwindle into a meager size - these many hundreds of years of hard work all wasted for prestige and personal gain. The mere thought brought anger to Porto. That's why he had left the comfort of the shire, he had planned to find wealth and restore honor to his family name.

His plan had seem relatively easy to put into motion but his family's misfortune persisted and luck left him once more on the roads. It's true that since the fall of Sauron, Middle-Earth was much safer for a hobbit to travel, but, he hadn't foreseen his cart being ransacked by a band of greedy brigands. They had taken pity on him, leaving but the clothes on his back. Fortunately, friendly Gondorian soldiers who were patrolling the area had offered him to join their company and travel with them.

Selling what little gold he had, hidden in a secret pocket, he established himself in Minas Tirith within a small shoddy dwelling. This inspiring city being the residence of the new King and the sanctuary that had endured and resisted against the forces of Mordor, would provide, in Porto's opinion, plenty of protection and customers.

Well, that's what he had first thought. He thought that no longer.

Porto strove to better himself and keep his customers happy. Attracting consumers wasn't easy with the competing of large businesses. In this city, no matter how much he tried, he was still but a simple hobbit, and the populace here was weary and suspicious of him. He had attempted to hire workers, but none would remain for very long; seeing the miserable state his shop was in. Many of the dusty, broken shelves were permanently empty.

Now, he had lost one of his precious customers because of his idiotic blunder. He had sold the poor man the wrong herb for his skin rash, making his inflamed skin welt and clusters of sores appear all over his body. He understood why the man would be so angry at him, he was sure he would feel the same if it had been him placed in similar circumstances.

As he ran for his life down the streets, he was certain that he would meet a sad end with the man's fingers wrapped around his neck. But then, a strange woman had crashed into him. The events had been a blur, and he was still wondering how he had willingly parted with his gold coins.

From what he remembered of her, she had been as fair as the sea and the night sky; her voice rung in his ears like soft bells. He wondered if he had knocked his head so badly as to make him hallucinate this celestial being.

Rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head that had hit the paved floor, he pulled his legs up onto the counter and grasped hold of his reading book.

This day had been eventful enough to last him until the winter and he wished to take his mind off his worries.

A small muffled knock sounded and the door opened, ringing the small bell mounted above. His interest perked, the hobbit shot a glance over his hairy feet in curiosity. It was nearly evening - there were usually no customers browsing his shop at this time of day.

The silhouette of a woman shrouded in a hood quietly entered the shop. She stopped in her tracks, regarding her surroundings thoughtfully; a beam of orange light from the window partially illuminated her. She held, what seemed to be, rolls of fabric under her arms.

Porto immediately recognized the fine clothes she wore as being fit for nobility. A jolt of thrill went up his spine.

In an attempt to remove his feet from the counter - brought suddenly off-balance - he teetered over and fell from his seat, plummeting face down onto a thick film of dust.

Coughing, he leaped to his feet, furiously patting at his coat and his legs, "Welcome to my humble shop. My apologies for-"

He stopped in his track, sneezing loudly.

The shrouded lady who stared at him - still as a statue - suddenly burst into a fit of laughter.

Bells rang in his ears again and he rubbed the back of his head, gravely concerned for the deteriorating state of his mental health.

"Greetings Porto Bracegirdle of Hardbottle," the woman walked past him and placed the rolls of fabric onto the counter, "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"A-Again?"

She turned to face him and with a graceful motion of her arms, she lowered her cloak exposing the most beauteous being his mind could fathom. Midnight waves of silken hair shone in the setting sunlight, contrasted by a luminescent skin of pure silver-white. Her entrancing eyes, were gray as the stormy sea and appeared to plunge into the very depths of his soul.

There was no mistaking it, this was the angel he had hallucinated of in the street earlier. She was standing right in front of him, inside his very shop and she addressed him by name!

Porto felt his breathing falter and his head swim, "That's it, I've hit my head too hard and I've gone completely mad. Dear! Oh-Oh dear!"

The whole room swam and he heard the bells of her voice in his ears as his vision darkened.

* * *

><p>The hobbit was shaken awake by the both acrid and sweet smell of brewed tea.<p>

He looked around at his surroundings, confused.

Porto recognized the softness of a mattress and bedsheet underneath him. He sat up, examining the area. He was in the stuffy back room he used as a bedroom and study. At his side, a steaming cup of tea rested upon the wooden crate he used as his nightstand.

"_A, Yallume!_" A feminine voice exclaimed, followed by the tall vision of grace he saw earlier, "You can sure sleep like a rock."

Porto swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry.

As if reading his mind, she pointed to the cup beside him, "Drink, it will make you will feel better."

"I hope you don't mind, I took the initiative to tidy up your shop as you slept. I must admit, it is very quaint and charming once the spiderwebs and inches of dust is properly removed," she tapped lightly at her gown for good measure; a small cloud of dust particles escaped the fabric and danced around her.

Porto brought the cup to his lips and drank the tea greedily, his eyes fixated on her.

She continued, swaying here and there, and holding at items curiously, "I wish to apologize for earlier. My imagination gets the better of me and I tend to make a fool of myself. Unfortunately, Bruinir is only a figment of my dreaded imagination. When I first caught glimpse of your golden curls combined with your small height - no offense intended, of course - I thought you were a fugitive youth, who had stolen to keep his family from famine. You can understand, how alarming it was for me to withhold such a terrifying notion. My spirit couldn't bear it and I was forced to act and I came to your rescue."

"I was startled at the discovery of your name, and I fled. How very cowardly of me! I spent hours in agony over my unforgivable behavior. How can I call myself an elf, _stealing_ like a villain?! And, from an _innocent!_ - If you had been an orc or brigand, I suppose I could bring myself to such an awful deed.. but the fact is that I stole from a hard-working shop keeper; losing his very money pouch in the streets like a clumsy troll."

She was now staring at her feet, her eyebrows knit together in a pensive frown. She pursed her lips; which were luscious as a peach on a summer day. They formed a pout and she threw her arms into the air, "I feel absolutely _horrible_, Porto! I do not believe you can quite imagine just how difficult it has been for me to gather my courage to come here of my own accord."

Porto's earlier haze had cleared up and he sat, attentive and bewildered.

The deity was suddenly at his feet, her hands brought together in prayer, "Oh, Dear Porto! Can you please find it in your heart to forgive a young, foolish elf for misleading you and for losing your belongings?" She gripped his pant leg and bowed at his feet, her hair fanned out around her.

There was a long silence since Porto wasn't able to find his voice.

"O-Of course!" he croaked.

She lifted, resplendent with joy. Holding his hands in hers, he was pulled to his feet and twirled around.

"Oh Porto! Thank you, from the very bottom of my heart! Come, I want to show you something!" She dragged him along, into the main room.

Night had fallen and candles were alight around the room. The room looked completely different and he had to do a double-take. Everything was tidy and clean, the broken items that had been accumulating in the corners of the building and along the walls had been removed making the space look much wider. The wooden floor under him held not a shred of dirt or dust; it shone, freshly waxed. There were no more cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and to his wonder, the windows were now decorated with breath-taking silk curtains.

"While you slept, I took the opportunity to make curtains out of the fabric I brought as means for compensation. It's my own woven pattern," she spun around with excitement and clasped her hands together, "I am glad I did, for, they look so adorable in your windows."

Porto was rendered speechless once more. He had to lean against his formerly cluttered counter, and found himself clutching at his shirt where his heart was pounding away furiously.

"It's already night! I have to go!"

The softness of her lips touched his cheek, briefly, "May your ways be forever green and golden."

And in a flurry, she was gone.

Porto's knees wouldn't support him any longer, he slumped onto the stool.

Twice in one day, now, he had seen the beauty of an elven maiden. She had entered his life like a whirlwind. Gracing his shop with her being; everything she touched had been transformed - especially, he. And he yet not had a clue what her name could be.

* * *

><p>(S) A! - Ah!<p>

(S) Yallume! - At last!


	5. Trial and tribulations

CHAPTER FIVE

It was to Tuilindil's shock that her presence was requested in the throne room the following week.

Leaving the royal garden, she had hastily trotted down the halls. In fifty years she could count the times she had been requested to the throne room, on one hand. Her curiosity was piqued more than she was alarmed. The throne room involved her father and his duties as King, perhaps, a soldier was about to be knighted or a wealthy lord's wedding was to be announced.

Either way, the distraction was welcomed. She enjoyed the gorgeous sunny weather, and the comforting friendly nature of the birds and plants, but she found herself a bit bored and disinterested after last week's excitement. Perhaps this was what Lennel meant about thrills and adventure. Tuilindil had to admit that a change of pace in her life's monotony was quite refreshing.

Her white dress shimmered with small encrusted clear jewels and she felt light as a ray of sunshine. The guard found himself having a very difficult time escorting her since she kept one step ahead of him.

"Princess Tuilindil has entered the throne room!" the guard bellowed loudly behind her as the tall grand doors opened ahead and she was let inside.

The long benches aligned neatly on each side of the long and grandiose room were completely deserted - usually, a crowd of Lords and Ladies was gathered here during a royal announcement. It was odd to her and she paused. Ahead of her, framed by his throne, stood her father - fierce and proud - and garbed in his royal battle attire; black and gold armor and the shining crown sitting on his forehead. She immediately took notice of the stern look on the king's face. She resumed her way across the room with mounting anxiety.

_Father is upset._

An aura of impending doom inhabited the very air and Tuilindil shuddered; brushing her upper arms as if cold. She bit her bottom lip nervously, as only the light shuffling of her gown and feet on the long carpet could be heard.

King Elessar extended his hand. She knelt down and kissed his ring before straightening up.

"My King," she whispered. He nodded solemnly in response.

"Let the accused enter," Elessar called loudly to the empty room.

Tuilindil spun around and the doors opened once more. A short figure was pushed inside, stumbling. His hands were shackled in front of him and he was sporting an ugly black eye along with a broken nose.

"Porto Bracegirdle of Hardbottle has entered the throne room!"

Tuilindil gasped in horror and her hands flew to her mouth.

The poor hobbit looked downright downtrodden and miserable, his blond curls matted and his clothes dirty. Trails of dried tears through the dirt on his face, was visible. The guard shoved him again and with a grunt he continued making his way onwards, staring at his feet.

Why was he here, in the royal throne room; battered and bruised? To her knowledge, this hobbit's heart was gentle and held no ill will.

Tuilindil searched her father's eyes pleadingly but the king of Gondor let no emotion show.

"Let the accuser enter," Elessar called again loudly, staring past her.

Another person entered. He was a tall man, with long chestnut-brown hair pulled back in a sleek low ponytail. His face was cleanly shaven and he wore a regal embossed tunic of dark blue. He held his chin high and even though he was clean and clearly someone who took good care of his looks and hygiene, Tuilindil couldn't quite explain it but she could sense a stench emanating from his person which had her wrinkle her nose in disgust.

"Lord Thorn Warmond of Pelargir has entered the throne room!"

His dark brown eyes locked with hers briefly, they held a dark want and desire that she's seen on men's faces before.

"_Kneel before our king, you worthless piece of scum!"_ the words had been softly uttered through clenched teeth but Tuilindil's keen elven hearing had perfectly caught each word.

The hobbit fell over as Thorn walked past him smugly and with a flourish the man knelt in front of the king.

"Great and noble, King Elessar," he kissed the extended hand. "Fairest and beauteous, Princess Tuilindil," he added his eyes lingering on her. She looked away, nauseated.

Her father nodded curtly and motioned for them to rise. His grey eyes softened as they went to the hobbit.

"Porto Bracegirdle, you are accused of stealing from the royal palace of Minas Tirith. Thorn Warmond, here, has witnessed you acquiring fabric in your shop that belongs to my daughter; princess Tuilindil. He also attests that you have been selling this fabric to him. Is that true?"

Porto's clear green eyes were round as saucers as they travelled from Tuilindil and back to King Elessar.

"Y-Yes, m-my Lord," he sputtered. "B-but, I didn't steal, I swear it on the Bridegirdle honor!"

"And how exactly did you come to acquire my daughter's personal fabric?" Elessar's eyes hardened.

Thorn shifted his weight and interjected hotly, "He snuck into the royal palace, my liege, into Princess Tuilindil's quarters and stole her property. Hobbits are wretched deceitful creatures that ought never to be trusted!" Repulsion was written all over his face, "He should be lashed in public and banished from Minas Tirith!"

Tuilindil felt hot anger spread in the pit of her stomach. How dare this repulsive man accuse this dear, gentle hobbit of something this vile and lie in the face of his own king and ruler! Her fists clenched into tight fists at her side, her whole body shook.

"I gave it to him, father. As compensation!"

"Why would this hobbit be needing compensation from you?"

"It's a long story and I do not wish to explain its details in the presence of _lord Thorn Warmong_."

"I need an explanation!" the tone in the king's voice meant serious business.

"I-I accidentally acquired, Porto's purse and lost it somewhere in the market place and I gave him rolls of my fabric as means for compensation. I'm the one who should be reprimanded, not he!"

King Elessar stared at her in open surprise.

Thorn sneered; brandishing his hand and pointing at Porto, "I don't believe one word! She's covering for the hobbit!"

"Silence!" Aragorn barked loudly and the man knelt suddenly.

"My most sincere apologies. I meant no disrespect, _my king_," the lord of Pelargir mumbled. Tuilindil smiled at that.

King Elessar sighed. "It seems that we have a misunderstanding. Porto Bracegirdle, you are hereby found innocent."

"I apologize for the inconvenience, you may leave."

"Wait, father!" The young elf took a step in his direction, "Porto obviously went through much hardship and tribulation. Shouldn't we - at the very least - offer him a bath, some warm food and a healer to tend to his wounds?"

King Elessar tilted his head to the side, his eyes trained on the hobbit.

"I will not forget the aid your kind has offered to free us from the evil of Sauron, Porto. You are welcome to stay at the palace for three full days. My daughter has a soft, caring heart and I cannot refuse her this request."

"Thank you, my lord!" Porto groveled, sobbing with relief.

"Lord Thorn Warmong, you are dismissed!"

The man left the room with an exclamation of disgust; his expression a veil of seething fury.

* * *

><p>Aragorn walked up to the tender elf sitting on the bed and took a seat beside her. Taking hold of her hand gently in his, he searched for her eyes but a curtain of her dark hair was shielding them from him. Her head was lowered in shame.<p>

"I'm sorry, father. I should have told you, but I was so embarrassed."

"You have to understand, Tuilindil, that this is a city of men - and men don't act or think like elves. It is dangerous to wander the streets of Minas Tirith alone, especially for one such as sweet and innocent as you."

"But, father, I always leave with mother's enchanted cloak. Galadriel's powerful spell protects me."

"Even so, Dear One, it only takes one mistake to find yourself in very big trouble."

She looked directly into his eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I am fifty-two! By Gondorian standards, I am old enough to go wherever and whenever I please! It's unfair, father!"

He took her two hands in his - shifting his weight to look directly at her - he raised them to his lips.

"Yes, but you are not Gondorian. You are elven and but a child still. I do not want any ill befalling you."

"But father-"

"Hear me, my daughter. I will let you visit the city on one condition... that you accept a guard of my choosing to accompany you, wherever you go. He will not be like the customary soldiers patrolling the streets. His sole purpose will be to be aware of any danger and protect you at all times."

The princess paused for a moment, her endless pools of grey scrutinizing him, "Alright, father, I will do what you ask of me. I do not mean to worry you so."

"Thank you. I understand it is not easy for you to see your sisters growing up so quickly. You will be an adult yourself one day and you will understand why I am doing this."

"I love you, father," Tuilindil hugged him tightly.

"And I love you as well," he whispered softly, stroking her hair.


	6. Tharndir of Ossiriand

**A/N: The story is a bit slow at the moment, but I promise it will pick up soon!**

* * *

><p>CHAPTER SIX<p>

A whole month had passed since the incident. Porto the hobbit was given the chance to recover at the castle for three days and had since returned to his shop. Tuilindil hadn't found the courage to come visit him after seeing her father so upset with her - she thought it wise to wait for the dust to settle before she began sneaking out of the castle again.

Today was the day, and she just couldn't contain herself any longer. Wrapping the grey cloak around her shoulders and snapping the the delicate leaf broach closed, she tiptoed as quietly has her elven agility would let her and carefully opened her bedroom door. She peeked into the hallway, and seeing no one in sight, she crept along the walls. Under one arm she held her newest roll of silken fabric - a damask with a beautiful polychrome shine. She couldn't wait to show Porto.

Tuilindil knew that the cloak's enchantment wouldn't let her down. She was well hidden and not one soul would notice her. Adrenaline flowed through her veins and she felt alive. Her fingers found slight ridges in the smooth white stone wall and she laboriously escalated to the high ledge above. She was about to pull herself up and over when her foot slipped and she hung limply, held by but just one hand while the other clung onto the heavy fabric.

Letting out a small whimper, she attempted to find another ridge for support, failed and began to panic. Glimpsing down - the ground stood at least forty feet from her, which gave her a sweep of vertigo. The elf's breathing was loud in her ears and she couldn't think straight. Tuilindil struggled to keep her cool, she had found herself in similar situations before - she _would_ get herself onto that ledge.

The muscle in her arm ached, she tried hoisting herself up but ended where she had began; grunting in frustration. Would she dare cry for help? No. No one could find her like this, she would never be allowed out of her room ever again, let alone the castle.

Her arm trembled, she bit her lower lip, blinking away tears. Her raw fingers slipped and her heart lurched as gravity pulled and she began falling.

Within the blink of an eye, a hand caught her wrist, and with one strong heave she found herself safely over the ledge; tumbling onto the safe ground and gasping for breath; arms clutching the roll of fabric for dear life. The young elf lay on her back, thanking Eru that she was still alive and in one piece. The stars could still partially be seen through the incoming sunrise and she lay motionless dazed by the wonder of the panoramic scene. Suddenly a masculine face framed by long silver hair appeared into her view, blocking her view of the sky and interrupting the trance she had been in.

"Greetings, Tuilindil."

Startled to hear her name blurted out into the open, the young elf sat up in alarm. Her hands went to her hood to verify that she was still shrouded.

She was, "H-How can you-? I thought my cloak would keep- "

"-your identity hidden?" The man smiled brightly, took hold of her elbows and pulled her to her feet, effortlessly. "Not when it concerns a member of your own kin, _Pen neth_."

"I am Tharndir, son of Gaeruilon of Ossiriand, your newly assigned personal guard," he bowed with grace.

"_Oh!_" she exclaimed, rooted in place, stunned. "G-Greetings."

She reprimanded herself inwardly. How could she have missed such an obvious detail? His features were those of the Eldar.

"I believe you are headed towards the Citadel gates. Is that right?"

She nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond.

He stroked his lips with two fingers, lost in thought, and regarded his surroundings, "From what I gather, you are attempting to bypass the guards by rising to the upper levels, away from their view."

Tuilindil fidgeted with discomfort. Was this strange elf about to ruin her plans? She didn't want to spend another month cooped up in her room.

Normally, she would show more interest at having an elf for a personal guard, but the dread she felt removed any shred of curiosity she had.

He examined her with bright perceptive hazel eyes for a moment and laughed mirthfully. She jumped.

A soft warm knuckle nudged her chin; her eyes met his, "Do not look so dismal, _Pen neth, _I am a friend. Let me show you a safer path around the guards. Even I, wouldn't dare scaling the Citadel's walls of Minas Anor."

The tall elf had an aloof stance. He was dressed in leafy greens and earthy browns but in a style she wasn't used to seeing, which resembled more of the green elves she saw on ancient tapestries she had viewed of her people. His toned body emmanated both strength and finesse. He carried an intricately carved bow and a full quiver of arrows upon his back, a curved dagger was secured to his side. His light silver hair shone and flowed down his shoulders; partly tied at the back to keep it from his face. There was something very peculiar about him - she had heard of elves having silver hair in stories, but had never witnessed one until today.

Tharndir removed the heavy load of fabric from her arms, secured it snugly to his back and motioned for her to follow. Intrigued, she pursued him.

It amazed her just how swift and nimble, the elf was. They had made their way into the south-eastern tower from the rooftop, had slipped through a narrow window and were now inside the servants quarters. Since it was still early, very few people were walking around and the halls were still deserted.

The smell of fresh dough and simmering vegetable soup hit her nostrils and as if on command, her stomach growled. She blushed. Tharndir took notice flashed a white row of his teeth from the side. Swiftly making his way across the room like a big cat, he snagged a freshly baked bun from the far counter, some slices of cheese and grapes and wrapped it all together in a cloth, into a small bundle. The ellon came up to her with the warm, aromatic gift.

"Something for the road," he smiled broadly. "Come!"

Tuilindil returned his smile, carefully placing the package in the leather bag that was slung over one shoulder. She had only just met him and was already starting to warm up to the strange silver-haired elf who claimed to be her personal guard. Leaving the kitchen area, they descended a large flight of steps, their light footsteps imperceptible to human hearing. Tharndir motioned for her to stop and he leaned his head to the side, intently listening at the door. Tuilindil patiently stood by him, waiting for his signal. She chose to inspect the elf while his attention was diverted from her.

The way he was poised, immobile - still as a statue - combined with his attire and silver hair, he could have come straight out of one of her storybooks. Focusing her eyes slightly on the outline of his body, in the darkness she found could see an aura surrounding him from her peripheral vision - a light smoke tinted of liquid-clear gold. She blinked profusely.

How strange. What was it?

She extended her fingers as if to brush it lightly. A smell came to her, of the sea and of a dense lush forest. She heard the crashing of waves against the smooth rocks, and the seagulls crying overhead. She then felt the crunching of leaves and twigs underneath her booted feet. A wondrous feeling of pure elation came to her as she danced among the tall ancient trees, to the breath-taking medley of a fiddle. Everything felt right in this paradise, where she could talk with the trees and sleep upon the soft green grass.

Her reverie was suddenly halted with the touch of Tharndir's palms, both weighing lightly upon her shoulders. Tuilindil inhaled sharply from the sudden shock of returning to the darkened corridor. Tharndir stood almost nose to nose with her, the green of his eyes plunging into hers; down into her very soul, it seemed.

She shivered. The elf lingered for a moment and finally removed his hands with a small nod of reassurance.

"My apologies," she mumbled, feeling like she had violated him somehow.

"There will be other times to talk. Now is not one. Come, this is our chance."

They easily slid through the servant's doorway since the two guard were now busily inspecting an incoming cart.

* * *

><p>They had trekked down the many levels of Minas Tirith and finally reached the more expansive lower ground where the merchant's plaza resided. Her stomach rumbling, Tuilindil shared the fresh bread, cheese and grapes with Tharndir as they walked alongside. The combined sense of companionship and her stomach filled, placed her in a much friendlier mood. Eyes of men, women and children alike were planted on Tharndir, and she could hear them exclaiming and talking in hushed tones; pointing. She was glad for the enchantment of her cloak.<p>

The young elf couldn't help the light giggle that escaped her lips, "I must admit you are quite awe-inspiring, Tharndir. It's as if you come right out of the pages of elven legends."

He lifted an elegant eyebrow, his eyes carefully surveying the passersby as they walked.

"I am delighted by the compliment, _Pen neth_."

"You hail from Ossiriand, I believe? Wasn't _Lindon_ formerly named _Ossiriand_ many years ago?"

"Indeed, it was."

Her eyes glazed over, her voice becoming distant, "The view of the sea must be beautiful from the trees."

The memory of the crashing waves and lush forests flooded back to her. She continued in silence, pondering upon the images; unaware of Tharndir's eyes on her.

The small building they came to was thriving with coming and going customers. The little ringing from the bell at the door and chit-chatter and laughter of women was made clear to Tuilindil's ears and she looked in amazement - the spirit of the place had drastically changed since she had last visited.

She and Tharndir came up to the door, both of them noticing a large rectangular sign nailed to it. The words _Welcome to __Porto's Auctions!_ were clearly written in fancy, bold letters. Tuilindil sent Tharndir a look of anticipation and pushed the door open in front of her.

The shop was filled to the brim with customers. All were surrounding the front counter, shouting prices.

Tuilindil carefully watched from aside while men and women bought auctioned items and left with little wrapped boxes, greatly satisfied. The shrouded elf tried to catch sight of the items but failed to do so which in turn frustrated her. Curiosity getting the best of her, the young elf attempted to squeeze past the crowd, but was aggressively shoved back by a tall and broad, balding man.

"Hey, you! Get in line, like everyone else!" he bellowed.

Tuilindil lost her footing and strong arms steadied her from behind. Unfortunately, her hood fell along with the cloak's enchantment - her presence now visible for all to see.

A very thick silence formed as twenty pairs of eyes stared at the two of them, in complete shock.

"It was unwise to come here," Tharndir whispered in her ear. "We should leave."

"The elven Princess of Gondor!" a plump middle-aged woman all but shouted, her index finger pointed straight at her. Gasps and shouts resounded all around and a cacophony of voices burst loudly in their sensitive elven eardrums. Tuilindil's head swam from the overwhelming noise and the world went Topsy-turvy. She was barely aware of being slung over Tharndir's shoulder and carried out of the shop with utmost swiftness.

* * *

><p><em>(S) Pen neth - Young One<em>

_(S) Tharndir - Stiff/rigid young man_


End file.
